


One Of The Drunks

by prcttyodd



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, One Shot, Panic at the Disco - Freeform, Songfic, canonverse, tw for alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 09:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prcttyodd/pseuds/prcttyodd
Summary: “This is what it feels like,when you become one of the drunks.”





	One Of The Drunks

A/N: I fucking love Hank Anderson can you tell. 

Also this is a SONGFIC. Maybe its not the thing for everyone, it's certainly a style change for me. Also there's various interpretations to the song "One Of The Drunks" by Panic! At The Disco, and this mine, and tying it in with Hank. Kind of a character study, if you will. 

XX 

"Welcome to the club!  
Welcome to the club!" 

Hank Anderson remembered the day that he realized that he had a problem. 

Someone had sat next to him in the bar, a battered and obviously damaged man like himself. 

Hank turned to this man for about a second, analyzing all he could, and then he turned away, to mind his own business. He was here to get drunk out of his mind, not to worry about other people and their history. 

But the man didn't this, apparently. 

"Who did you lose?" He asked Hank, and Hank had to do a double take. Had this stranger really just asked him that? 

"What's it to you? I don't even fuckin' know you." Hank spat back, not caring. This was a stranger. And if this would lead to a fight, so be it. This man didn't have to know his personal business. 

"I can just see it, you know. I lost somebody too. My wife." 

Hank didn't answer for a few moments, and then turned to meet the man's eye. Hank knew exactly what he had meant. He could see grief in other people's eyes. He knew exactly what it looked like. He could see it when he looked in the mirror. 

"My son." Hank finally answered, looking down. 

"It's rough. That's why I come here. When I'm here, I try not to think about it. I know it's not healthy, but it still helps." 

"I feel the same way sometimes. All I ever do anymore is use alcohol to numb the guilt and pain that I feel." 

The man stared at him for a few seconds before saying "Welcome to the club." 

"Orange juice, pour out half the carton  
Grey Goose, pour it, get it started  
Good times, remedy your sorrows  
Baptize, don't worry 'bout tomorrow"

Hank got a screwdriver just to change things up, and was surprised when the man next to him did the same. 

They ended up talking for the rest of the night. About their grief, the people that they lost, about how they wished they were dead instead of them. 

Hank soon realized that he was telling this man, a man he didn't know the name of, more than he had ever told anyone about his son and how he felt. Maybe it was good to get things off your chest sometimes. Hank didn't really like to bring it up, it brought on episodes of guilt and the realization that he'd never see his son again. Something was different tonight, though. Maybe it was the alcohol. Yeah, probably the alcohol. 

"You don't have work or anything tomorrow?" The man asked as Hank downed yet another drink. He wasn't even sure what number drink he was on, and he didn't really care. The world was getting a bit blurry now. 

Hank shrugged in response to the question. If something came up, it came up. "No." He added simply. The man nodded. And that was the last that they had spoken. Hank wasn't one for friends anymore. He didn't feel like they would have a place in his life. He would just push them away. It felt good to have someone to talk to for a few moments, though. 

"Shake it up, shake it up  
Now it's time to dive in  
Share a cup, share a cup  
Now you're screwdriving  
Every weekend with your friends  
Every weekday when it ends  
Damn, it's all good, I guess." 

Going to the bar became routine for Hank after his son's death, much like some people make a routine out of going to the grocery store every Friday. At first, he had went only once a week. He tried to limit himself to that. 

But then, things of course spiraled. He went more than once a week. Twice, three times, four times. Then, he just went whenever he was thinking those awful thoughts that seemed to plague him. 

Some days, he would wake up in a pool of his own vomit. Most people would think think of something like that as something embarrassing, and it was at first. But once you get used to something, it doesn't phase you anymore. 

It was all good, he supposed. It could be worse. At least that's what he told himself. 

Drinks were only temporary medicine. They weren't permanent things by any means. Once they wore off, he was right back where he had begun. 

"This is what it feels like when you become one of the drunks  
Searching for a new high, high as the sun, uncomfortably numb  
This is what it feels like when you become one of the drunks." 

Hank sook realized that with drinking a lot, you begin to build up a tolerance extremely fast. Soon the same drinks that would have you blasted after half a glass didn't even fulfill you after a full one. 

Was this just the placebo effect, or was his body actually getting used to alcohol as if it were normal? He was hoping it was the placebo option, because the latter would actually be quite pathetic. 

The dark thoughts that he had been dealing with kept finding a way back into his mind. He had flashbacks of that day. 

With the alcohol, things could be better. He could imagine that his son was still here. He could still hear him laugh, hear him playing in his room. 

This of course just made Hank more upset, but he couldn't even bear to think of these things while sober. It was almost as if the alcohol opened up this door to his mind whenever he consumed it. 

Things sucked either way. But they sucked less with alcohol. He knew he should get help rather than drink as much as he did, but it didn't matter. He was already a drunk. He had become one a long time ago. He was trying to make himself believe that one day he'd be happy again. 

"Never dry, every day you're thirsty  
Bourbon high, sip it till you're tipsy  
Night's young, searching for a feeling  
Big fun, dancing with the demons." 

Alcohol of course quickly became an addiction. When you rely on something and think that it'll make you feel better, even if that thing isn't the best for you, you'll become addicted. 

But still, he couldn't bring himself to stop. He wanted to think that this alcohol could somehow make him get over everything, even though it only made things worse. It made him remember more, and it made him more upset in the long run. 

He also wanted to feel something again. Ever since his son's death, he had been pretty numb. He didn't cry much like people expected him too. He wanted to feel something, and that was another reason for his drinking. It was one he would never admit to anyone else in the world, though. 

He was in a constant battle in his own mind, one that he felt that he would never win, even with alcohol? But did that stop him? It didn't. 

"Round and round and round and round and round and round  
Damn, it's all good  
Round and round and round and round and round and round  
Damn, it's all good, I guess." 

He was at a point that there was no stopping. Nobody could get him to stop, he couldn't even get himself to stop. 

Passing out and waking up in his vomit didn't make him want to stop. Hearing his son's voice even though he knew that he'd never be back didn't make him want to stop. Drinking until he was dizzy and thought that the world was going to collapse under him didn't make him want to stop. 

He was at a point where he would never be able to go back. And he was okay with that. He didn't care about anything anymore. 

He was just another drunk.


End file.
